Fallen Knight
by comptine
Summary: WWIIAU. The United Kingdom has fallen and the Reich now overshadows all hope of victory. England’s only hope lies in his will to survive and those around him, whether he can trust them or not.
1. Act 1: Threat

_Fallen Knight_

**Act 1: Threat**

Arthur Kirkland's new office was nothing like the one he had held six-months ago in Westminster Abbey. The large bookshelf had been replaced with stacks of filing cabinets that pressed in on him in the claustrophobically tight walls. His large dark oak desk was now a tiny table with a few drawers made of terrible quality wood. And his secret stash of scotch had been confiscated so he couldn't even drink his woes away. Not at work at least.

He sighed, shifting in his dark uniform, the new fabric feeling unfamiliar and hostile. An Iron Cross sat tightly against his collarbone, nothing more than a choker to make sure their little English dog didn't venture too far. The ceremony had been nice at least, all his people forced to watch as their great kingdom was placed on a leash. That had been the same day the United States of America and Canada had signed a ceasefire with the German Reich.

There was a knock for his door and he automatically got to his feet, pulling at the angles of his livery trying to straighten it. He hoped dearly that it wasn't another soldier sent to watch him. The last one had only lasted an hour before he had to leave the room. It was rumoured he had left the army, which gave Arthur a title among the German occupants, but he had yet to heard it - technically the soldiers were not allowed to use the title so he knew nothing of it. He hoped it was fitting.

Another knock at the door snapped him out of his musings. "Enter." He called, brushing a blond hair off his shoulder, determined - even though he loathed the dark material - to keep it as meticulous as possible, just to show the Germans he still had some pride

The door opened and Ludwig walked in, face severe as always, though his blue eyes had heavy, dark circles under them and the salute was not as sharp and formal as it usually was. He smelt of rain and smoke, making England cough, bringing his gloved hand to his mouth. Recovering from his fit, Arthur's feet came together and he raised his hand to his brow. Germany nodded at the obeisance, muttering at him to stand at ease. The English nation did not hesitate to sit back down again, gesturing towards the only other free chair in the cramped office. The German shook his head, remaining upright.

There was a pause, the Englishman watching Germany carefully while he looked around the small room, as if taking stock of everything inside. "Reichführer Ludwig," Arthur said carefully, knitting his fingers together. The blue eyes snapped onto him. "What brings you to my humble office this fine day?" His voice wavered on the edge of pleasantness, but the distinct sarcasm was impossible to ignore.

Germany bowed his head, looking at his muddy boots. "Brigadeführer Kirkland, I'm here on order to inform you that your King has been locked in the Tower of London and that Buckingham Palace will not be used by anyone, save for the Führer." He said this all very quickly, not meeting the Englishman's cool gaze. Arthur knew Germany was not comfortable with him and he loved it. Ludwig's posture was stock-still, as though he feared even the slightest of moves would set the other nation off.

The silence was made only worse by Arthur's sudden wince and quiet yelp of pain. Ludwig took a step towards him, but England waved him off, shaking his head, rubbing his temples. "Smashing…" He ground out, trough his clenched jaw, "Riots again, around South London… The people of Britain are not pleased by this incident." It actually hadn't hurt that much, the throbs of pain had become too standard for Arthur to care, but he enjoyed torturing the German nation at every opportunity.

Blue eyes were looking everywhere but at Arthur, Germany's poise only getting tenser with each passing minute. "I-I… I gathered as much." He tried to smile, but the look on Arthur's face quickly ended that urge. "I don't think my people would be pleased if we locked the Führer in the Wolfsschanze."

Arthur laughed, enjoying the look of surprise on Ludwig's face. A smirk crossed England's face. "_Your_ people?" He choked out, a hand still held to his temple. Sighing, he closed his eyes and shook his head. "You really can still call them that? My, we are presumptuous aren't we?" Opening one eye, he fixed Germany with a piercing stare.

Germany's was standing straight as a board and Arthur could see his gloved hands twisting themselves behind his back. His eyes light-blue eyes tightened around the edges, making the dark circles even more pronounced. "What are you talking about?" He said coldly.

Sitting forward in chair, Arthur raised an eyebrow, still grinning. "Your people?" He asked, without even bothering to hide the scorn in his voice, "Do you really still hold any influence over them?" He knew that Germany's people were not longer his own, that they're minds were clouded and poisoned by the Black Cross.

"What would you know about influence?" Germany said, trying to keep his cool but England knew that the temper was rising behind the stern manner. "You're occupied, you influence nothing." His words wavered and his perfect stance slumped for half a moment.

England watched the nation with interest, his eyes not missing the break in Ludwig's flawless form. "I still hold some power over my people Ludwig-"

"It's _Reichführer_ Ludwig." Germany cut across him in a loud voice. They stared at each other; the blue eyes severe while the green ones glinted wickedly. The English nation loved the few opportunities he had to show Ludwig what he thought of the Reich, how broken it was, how flawed. Just as Germany was beginning to show signs of weakness, the quiet whispers of a revolution and a secret war had reached Arthur's ear and he knew that the Reich was revealing cracks in its armour.

"-Ludwig." Arthur finished, offering an innocent smile, knowing that would only incense Germany further. "I know my people are not happy, I know how they feel about you and your fucking Reich. And I know they aren't going to stand for it much longer." As he spoke, he rose to his feet, clasping his hands behind his back, mirroring Germany's tense posture. They watched each other, Arthur knowing that Ludwig wanted nothing more that to pull out his gun and end The United Kingdom right then and there.

Noticing the mocking posture of the England, Ludwig's shoulder relaxed. He reached up with gloved hand pulling the dark cap off. His other hand dragged through his light blond hair, smoothing it back before replacing the hat. "Is that a threat?" He asked calmly. Arthur knew Germany had realized that the pleasant air he radiated was nothing more than a front from the hatred that he felt.

"Take it as you like." He said, touching the Iron Cross that hung tight around his neck, "I'm just mentioning that I still have a connection to my people. Do you Ludwig?"

Striding around his desk, Arthur stood directly in front of Germany, trying to make himself as tall as possible. The other nation was still at least a head taller. "Imagine how you would feel, destroying half of Europe, killing millions and inspiring fear wherever they may venture. Not exactly the most wonderful thing in the world."

Germany's eyes bored into him and it took all his self-control not look away or back down. He took a deep breath. "Can you feel that Ludwig?" He asked, gripping the Iron Cross, "Or have you grown so cold that you can't even hear your people screami-"

"Shut up." Ludwig said, his lips a thin line.

This was it. Germany's stoic demeanour had shattered under Arthur's words. For weeks he had been poking, prodding and slowly chipping away at the German. That, coupled with the pressure of a growing empire, had finally pushed him over the edge, and England took the advantage without hesitation. Having this quiet power over the invading nation was rare and made England fell the tiniest bit better about his current situation,

"I have said nothing but the truth Ludwig. Which I believe you need to hear once in a while instead of that bullshit '_da Führer_' has been feeding you." Arthur's hands lifted, mocking the quotations for him.

Ludwig's teeth grit. "I said shut up." He ground out, taking a threatening step towards Arthur. He loomed over England, but Arthur just glowered back.

"_Make me_."

Arthur said it quietly, but that didn't mask the power behind the words. He may have been occupied, but he was by no means the slave France had become or the lapdog Russia was. He was the United Kingdom and Ludwig needed to remember that.

"Change has come Kirkland." Germany said, finally stepping away from Arthur, shaking his head, "Whether you like it or not."

"But you know us English," Arthur said, giving the German nation the sweetest of smiles, "We're terrible at change. Excuse me _Reichführer_ Ludwig, I have paperwork to attend to." He strode to the door, opening it, gesturing for Germany to leave.

Germany was halfway out of the door, but he stopped, turning back to Arthur. "Your new office is to your standards I hope?" He said and, without waiting for an answer, left.

As soon as the door closed, Arthur let out a growl of frustration at being bet at the very last moment. He threw himself into his chair, kicking his boots up on the table and scowling deeply. He had let his concentration slip and the damned German beat him at his own game of wits. Perhaps it was the occupation that was making his English cleverness desert him.

Sighing, he reached into his jacket, pulling out a small flask, taking a long draft before dragging his feet off the desk, starting on the papers that had piled up at least half a meter high. Who knew occupation meant so many formalities?

* * *

**Author's Note**

um, yay for fanfiction? Idea for this can only be given to the novel "SS-GB" by Len Deighton, which is the fictionalized take over of Britain by the Reich. Major props to my Social teacher who told me to get it out. It's quite poorly-written, but he gives a lot of detail and it's very believable, so if you can look past the terrible prose, check it out~


	2. Act 2: Fork

**Act 2: Fork**

Six months ago, when Arthur would walk the streets of London on his increasingly rare trips away from the front lines, he could meet anyone's eye and see the fight they held within them, even under the duress of a constant losing streak. They were English, proud and true, whether a long-time resident or a recent refugee, each held that small flame, and kept it safe.

Now the eyes were dull, his people lost within the Reich's growing shadow. His economy was failing, his woman were quiet, subdued and his men were either too broken to fight or far away from him, isolated, slowly having their spirits broken down as the world slowly fell out of the war and into a hesitant and dubious peace. Arthur knew his people were defeated, that the flame had been doused and he did his best to ignore that overwhelming feeling of failure.

When his government had first signed the documents of the unconditional surrender, he had spent days locked in his quarters, drinking his way through his now-rationed whiskey, crying, yelling, screaming, doing anything to keep himself from going mad as the cage of German influence closed around him.

A letter had slipped under his door two days into his isolation had informed him that the United States of America and Canada had both signed ceasefires with The Second Reich and the German Empire and would be pulling their men back and sending all prisoners of war back to their respected nations. The fact that Alfred and Matthew, both so sure of victory, had pulled out had been the final push Arthur needed.

As the fourth day dawned and he woke from yet another long, drink-induced stupor, his mind slowly came to a conclusion that made his skin feel unlike his own. He knew he couldn't fight anymore. The scars on his back had doubled since the war had started and even after the ceasefire he could still feel the skin ache as his villages and cities were pulled back together, half-formed among the rubble. He knew he would have to give in.

It had been hard at first, much harder than he would've liked to share, but eventually he had dragged himself out of his room and met Ludwig and his new boss, giving them both a low bow, resigning himself to them. It was the worst moment in his history and still burned fresh and hard in his mind.

In order to try and forget this terrible memory (and since booze was now rationed and couldn't simply be bought whenever he felt like nipping down to the shop or pub) Arthur often found himself in Hyde Park, walking the Rose Garden, wishing that the flowers would blossom again. The park had been dull and lifeless for a year now. Reaching out a careful hand, he pushed a few thorned branches aside, seeing a hint of colour.

A red rose shined up at him, petals wilted and black at the edges but at its very core, beautiful and crimson. He fingered the silky flower for a moment, closing his eyes. After a moment - shoving his hands in his pockets, taking a petal with his trembling fingers - Arthur hurried out of the park, wishing that the roses didn't remind him of better times.

The few people brave enough to walk the streets of occupied London were either skittish and clung to their SS-issued passes as it was a life raft in a raging sea, or out-of-their minds, walking and talking to people that weren't there. Arthur envied these people; they were still living in old London.

The SS-London Headquarters had been set up in the Parliament Buildings, large red flags hanging outside while any hint of the rose had been chipped out, replaced with the Reich's crest. As Arthur walked into the compound - the entire area had been cordoned off as the main German base - the solders began to mutter among themselves, giving him a wide birth. Despite being defeated, Arthur reputation for a sharp mouth and fast hand preceded him. The troops had a name for him, one only whispered at night during watch, because if caught using the title they would be punished harshly.

_Blutroter Löwe_

A few men come to attention as he entered the main hall, sliding off his jacket handing it to the soldiers. He adjusted his collar, fingers ignoring the urge to rip the cross from his neck and started down one of the long hallway. Soldiers in pressed and perfect uniforms lined the corridor, guns held proud and chins prouder. Arthur scowled at everyone.

Reaching the end of the hall, he took one last comforting breath and pushed the double doors open, feeling the carved stories there for a moment. The banquet hall is simple and elegant, most of the space taken up by a large dark oak table, laden with silver and glass. Waiters pour wine as England took his seat at Germany's right hand, stuck between the two Germanic brothers and across from Russia. He muttered a small apology for his lateness, waving off the wine and asking for scotch instead.

He loathed being at Germany's side, scrutinized and caged at all times. When the blue eyes were not over-looking the rest of the Reich, they were boring into Arthur. He can't help but wonder why someone so young managed to best him.

Sighing, he took the scotch, relishing the slightly wild and unrefined taste compared to the wines and high-class liquors he had been forced to drink. It reminded him of his brothers and with an unsettling lurch of his stomach, he wondered if they were okay. They were still free, hidden deep within their forests, continuing to fight for Arthur's freedom. His heart longed for the company of someone he didn't want to choke and his current companions held no one who met that requirement.

Beside him, Gilbert's long fingers crept onto his shoulder, pulling him closer on the pretence of sniffing the drink, but Arthur heard the words whispered into his hear, more breath than coherency. "I have a gift for you my little _Löwe._ You will join me after dinner, understand?"

Only once England gave the smallest of nods - he had learnt to play Gilbert's games - the grip around his shoulder relaxed. He ignored the way the Prussian's boot presses against his, instead turning his attention to Japan, who sits beside Russia, dwarfed beside the huge nation. "How is your Chinese Front going Honda?" He asked.

The table went silent, all conversation coming to a halt. It had almost become tradition whenever there was a dinner. England took it upon himself to find the cracks in each nation's armour and drive a knife into it. Prussia leaned forward, propping his chin on his hand, watching with benign interest.

"As I said before England-san," Japan said, lifting a hand to brush his bangs away, "Please call me Kiku or Japan. As for my front, it is going very well. We are gaining ground every day." The round paused as the waiter announces that the first course is ready.

The soup is hot, mixed with spices taken from Ilavarasi's most sacred and deepest gardens - Arthur only knows this because they were _his_ spices at a time. "Oh really?" He said, picking up his spoon, still looking directly at Kiku, "I was under the impression you weren't faring so well."

Japan carefully gripped his utensil, the only sign of his irritation in the slight twitch of his eye. "I do not understand." He answered calmly, meeting Arthur's sneer with a cool stare, "As I said, my troops are doing quite well." There is the tiniest quiver in his voice and Arthur can only grin. The years spent studying the Japanese man during their alliance were finally proving useful.

Grinning, Arthur dipped his spoon into the crimson soup; pulling it out and watching the liquid drip thickly back into the bowl. "Is that so? I heard the Russian rebels groups were giving you quite a few problems. I believe you lost Yong Soo and his brother to their attacks?"

The spoon clattered into the bowl. Kiku's dark eyes were hard, cold and far from the distant look they usually had. "I will not discuss Yong Soo with a surrendered and captured nation." He said, gently picking up his spoon and continuing to eat without another word.

Not another sentence is uttered until they are halfway through the third course. Roderich turned to Arthur, carefully wiping the corners of his mouth free of glazed pheasant coucal. "How is Churchill doing?" The Austrian smiled slightly at England, full of the condescending smugness he usually saved for a few choice people.

Eyes swivelled to the Englishman and again the table seems suspended. "Still in a coma. I believe he's at a Nazi hospital, isn't that right Ludwig?" He looked up from his plate, brow furrowed slightly. It had been a long time since the connection to his leader had been severed and even longer since he had even seen Churchill in person.

"Correct." The German said, not having touched any of his food. He didn't need to eat. "Once he has recovered, he will be tried for crimes against the Reich." Arthur flinched slightly, eyes lowering. There had been a small group of rebels that had fought against Nazi control, led by Churchill. New Britannia had flared into life briefly, it's nation called James, a proud East Ender. Two days later, at a final stand off in Trafalgar Square, James lay dead, Churchill unconscious and the last ditch effort for England's freedom fell with them.

Arthur had been forced to watch from Germany's side and it was the first time in centuries that he had felt truly helpless. "And here I thought you'd keep him alive just to play with him…" England muttered, meeting the hard blue eyes for the first time. He wondered vaguely if his eyes glinted with power like that when he was an empire.

"It's quite cold here." All conversation stopped. Hungary had finally spoken, her light voice cracking across the low grumble of the men's voices. "Isn't it Roderich?" She was smiling sweetly and her hand was intertwined with Austria's on the table but lines around her eyes had formed and she was watching each of the other nations carefully.

"Yes," Arthur spoke up, his tone pleasant, watching everyone off-guard almost as much as Elizaveta's sudden words. "London seems to have a wee _nip _in the air, doesn't it?"

There was a sudden shift around the table, but Prussia stood up before everyone else. "England," He said, looking down at the small island nation with something close to amusement, "I have something I want to show you. Come with me."

Deciding it would be better to follow the order than stay around in the bristling room, Arthur got to his feet, bowing his head to everyone in the room, especially to Kiku, whom he gave an arrogant smirk.

Closing the door behind them as they walked out, Gilbert sighed, letting out a small chuckle. "You enjoy making things as tense as they can be, don't you?" He adjusted one of his gloves, starting to head down the hallway, "Little _Löwe_. Getting too brave."

"Quite." Arthur replied curtly, clasping his hands behind his back as he strode beside the Prussian nation. He never gave long answers to Gilbert.

Still laughing, Gilbert stopped at a set of double-doors. "You never cease to amaze." He said, opening the doors and revealing a candle-lit room. "I have a present for you." Walking in first, Prussia waited calmly for the Englishman.

Cautiously, Arthur took a step into the room, eyes nervously flickering all over the dark room. "Why?"

Prussia closed the doors behind them, grinning widely at Arthur, who was sure to keep his back facing away from the albino. "Because I like you England," Gilbert said, placing a hand on his hip, offering his other one, "And I think we got off on the wrong foot."

The emerald eyes watched the proffered hand. "The wrong foot being you bombing my cities, killing my people and occupying me?" He questioned, flicking his gaze up to Prussia's, keeping his hands folded tightly against his chest.

"Exactly!" The hand was pulled back so casually Arthur would've have noticed if he hadn't been watching the nation so carefully, "You and I are on the same page." Gilbert took a step towards Arthur and as the English nation took a step back and felt his legs hit the edge of the bed.

"I don't want a gift." Arthur said pointedly, stepping around Prussia, surprised that he wasn't stopped. His hand touched the doorknob before the Machiavellian voice spoke again.

"Oh, I'm sure this is a gift you'll want."


	3. Act 3: Psuedo Sacrifice

**Act 3: Pseudo-Sacrifice**

Following closely behind Gilbert, England couldn't help but feel less at edge. Although he still greatly disliked the presence of Germans in his country, he had nothing personal against Prussia himself. But, one would be a fool to call them close, more like unwanted allies, both fallen empire, living under a strong young one. Despite their brotherhood, Arthur knew Gilbert detested Ludwig for being in control.

"It's just in here." a gloved hand fell onto the brass door handle of a large oak door. "Follow me." Gilbert added this as an afterthought, as if Arthur actually had a choice.

The room was dark, faint candles scenting the air with spices and a soft light. It takes Arthur a moment to realize that it is _his_ room. Dark and vivid crimson blankets of the Reich covered the couch and -Arthur swallowed, noticing it- the large bed. He immediately edged away from it as the Prussian closed the door behind them, his pale face cast into a sickly shadow.

The pressed silence stretched, Arthur's hand reached to the gun at his hip, not caring to consummate his surrender in such a way. He wasn't France.

When Prussia started to laugh, Arthur's hand closed around the handle of his gun. "The gift isn't me." The green eyes watched the gleaming smile, hand not moving from his weapon, "My brother is the one to take you. Being with me would get me nowhere and only leave you wanting more of what you can't have."

Not caring to engage in a battle of wits and only wishing to get away from the man, Arthur said, "The present, then?"

Looking only slightly put out, Gilbert strode over to a small wooden door that blended almost perfectly into the dark wood panelling. He exchanged a few quiet words with the guards standing behind the hidden door as Arthur turned his attention to the window, staring out into stormy night.

"Ah, here it is."

Arthur turned around and the whisper of a name he hadn't said in years ghosted from his lips.

Waved blond hair fell loose and tumbled over a pale shoulder revealed by a delicate silk dress that split down the thin body, exposing even more milky skin. Arthur's eyes could only focus on the subdued blue eyes. There _he_ was.

"I thought he died…" the quietness in Arthur's voice betrayed the uncaring words, "Killed…"

Laughing quietly, Gilbert shook his head. "We kept him." He whispered, a gloved hand reaching out and pushing the long hair aside. Arthur watched in abject horror as the Prussian pressed his lips to the Frenchman's neck and he swallows hard when Francis doesn't react, merely standing there and letting Prussia lavish him with kisses. "Such a lovely man. Would've been a shame to let him rot away. So we trained him and look, he's perfect now."

"He's-" _Not perfect. I should shoot you right now you Prussian sonofabitch_. "Quite… I just assumed you would've wanted him out of your hair."

The crimson eyes looked up at him, matching the shade of the dress perfectly. "You sound so sad. Perhaps I'll just keep him for mysel-"

"No!" England's voice strains as he fought o keep it even, "No, thank you. It's a gift and I accept it, thank you _Reichführer_." He bowed his head, fingers clenched into fists at his side.

The emerald eyes raise just in time to see the final, lingering kiss placed on the shoulder. "I thought as much." Gilbert said, motioning at the two soldiers to follow and they do not hesitate, opening the double doors for the Prussian. "Try to be nice to him, he's a little drowsy."

As the doors closed, cutting off Gilbert's laughter, Arthur immediately slumped, turning to Francis, taking a cautious step towards him. His gloved hand shivered violently as he touched the pale, blushed-smeared cheek. He was _real_.

"F-Francis… How… where?"

Almost with a mechanical precision, the blue eyes turn onto Arthur, as if noticing him for the first time. The white teeth shine in a wide smile. "I have been told that you are_ Brigadeführer_." Francis said quietly, voice plain, "Should I address you by that title, or perhaps something else?" the blond head tilted to the side, watching the Englishman carefully.

Arthur's heart was somewhere near his stomach. "Just call me Arthur for Christ's sake. Francis, what happened to you? I s-searched for days and I couldn't find you.."

Still smiling, not noticing the distress hidden in the quiet words of England, France continued to smile. "Nothing has happened to me _Brigadeführer_. I am merely here to serve you."

Hand falling from Francis' cheek, Arthur bowed his head slightly, grabbing the strap of the red dress, considering ripping it. "D-don't tell me they got you," he whispered, "Not you Francis." The Frenchman wasn't supposed to give in. that was breaking the promise.

"I am part of the German Reich now." Francis' voice is suddenly hard, angry, "Nothing more."

Stubborn as always, England refuses to believe him, clamping his eyes shut and his hands into his hair, pulling at it. This was Prussia's plan. Arthur would never break from the inside but this, this simple move had almost broken him completely. "No! Please! Francis!" He pleaded, refusing to look at the man, "Say something in French! Grope me! Just let me know you're still in there!"

There was a lengthy pause in which rain slid down the window, a gun fired and guards outside Arthur's room laughed. But all the Briton could hear was the sound of his own breathing, broken and lost.

"Would you like me to speak French?" Arthur clutched his hair tighter, "And groping is really what my job entails." There is a small laugh and England almost looked up because it sounds so much like _him_ but he remained with his head bowed.

Finally finding his voice, rage building inside of him overshadowing the sadness heavy in his chest, Arthur spoke. "No…" He looked up, seeing the dull blue eyes and the smile and the pale, perfect skin, "No, no, NO!" His hands closed around the dress, crumpling the expensive material as he shook the Frenchman slightly, pleading at him, "Francis, please… It's me. It's England. It's Arthur. _Angleterre_… Say it… please, just once."

"_Angleterre_." But there is no mocking tone behind it, no love, no emotion. It is just a word, not a name. A word. "Does that satisfy you?"

Arthur couldn't bring himself to let go of Francis, instead leaning his head against the shoulder, tempted to stay there forever. "Fuck. You're dead Francis… They killed you and I couldn't do anything…" His eyes were uncomfortably warm as he took a deep breath, smelling the heavy and rich perfume sticking to Francis' skin. Instead of enticing him, his stomach squirmed. "I'm so sorry… I tried to come! I did! I begged my boss, but he refused! I wanted to storm the shores. I wanted to save you Francis…"

A delicate hand came up, gently rubbing his back. "Save me?" -A quiet laugh- "But I am perfectly okay." And Francis said this so casually for a moment, that Arthur almost believes him. Then he pulled back and sees the dull eyes once again, world crashing down around him for a second time. He clutched tighter to the dress to keep himself steady.

"No, you're not." England said sternly, the emotion in his voice almost as subdued as Francis' though the hurt from the betrayal is clear in his eyes.

"Shall I leave then?" Once again, the blond head quirked to the side, smiling at the Englishman, but this time there is a hint of fear in the twitching lip and the fumbling fingers, "I do not want to impose if I am not what you are looking for. _Reichführer_ Beilschmidt hates leaving his guests unsatisfied."

Arthur couldn't hold it in any longer. He fell into a chair, tears starting to stream down his cheeks. "I swear I'm going to kill Gilbert." He vowed, "And Ludwig, and Roderich and every single bastards that did this to you. I am going to get you back Francis. J-just watch me…"

As the rain pounded harder on the window, England could only cry harder when France made no move to comfort him.


	4. Act 4: Hanging

**Act 4: Hanging**

Arthur awoke with Francis curled around him, having somehow both ended up in his bed as the night went on, his breathing quiet and slow. England lay there for a moment, remembering the numerous times he had woken to find France in his bed after another night on the town. Reaching down, he traced along the hand sitting on his hip, the arm

hair rough and familiar under his touch. Francis sniffled slightly.

The thought of dealing with the vacant country pushed England out of bed and into his washroom. Hot water gushed out of the showerhead, streaming down his body as he ran soap - an old habit - through his hair. A dull throb had developed at the base of his skull due to the statue of Hitler being erected in Trafalgar Square between the Lions. Occasionally a particularly sharp pain would bite as another protestor was shot.

He had grown to ignore it.

Sighing as the water began to cool, he stepped out of the shower, snatching a towel off the rack, running it over his head and wrapping it around his thin waist. He caught his reflection in the mirror and stopped. Had he always looked this worn? The scars that crisscrossed along his back were encroaching on his chest, red and tender and his fit body was becoming thin and stretched. Clutching the sides of the sink, he breathed out deeply.

Hands wrapped around his hips and he jerked up into Francis' warm embrace. Long hair spilled over his shoulder as France kissed his neck. "_Bonjour Angleterre._" He murmured into Arthur's skin.

Scowling, England pushed his way out of the arms, stalking out of the bathroom and into the closet, pulling his uniform off the hangers and tugging it on. The Iron Cross rubbed against his skin as he slid the knot of his tie tight against his neck. Quickly checking his reflection in the mirror he started towards the door out of his room.

"Is something wrong?"

Hand on the doorknob, Arthur turned to face France. The nation walked to him, blue eyes dull, a loose dressing gown on his shoulders. The long fingers touched Arthur's cheek. "Please, if something I am doing displeases you, you need only tell me. I am yours now."

Arthur slapped the touch away. France seemed taken aback as the emerald eyes glared at him. "Don't touch me." He growled, throwing the door open and slamming it after him, not trusting himself to remain so composed if he saw the look on Francis' face.

"Those were harsh words," He looked up, "Even for you England." Austria was standing in the hallway, tugging at his sleeves and smoothing out his coat, arching a thin eyebrow at the Briton. Leave it to the Austrian to lurk whenever Arthur needed something to punch.

The Brit straightened fixing his glove, mirroring the other nations grooming in an almost mocking fashion. "Like you can talk. You're not better than him, following around Germany and Gilbert like a good little dog."

Purple eyes narrowing, Roderich started to walk, brushing by Arthur as he did. A single finger curled towards Arthur, beckoning him. "I joined the Axis of free-will Kirkland." He said icily as the Englishman followed him, exactly one pace behind, creating a off-time beat which only increased the frown on the Austrian's face. "Do not make me test my rank on you." His voice carried an edge of a true threat.

"A title, and nothing more." Arthur replied, focusing hard on keeping the offbeat, "You know as well as I do, that you are no soldier Roderich-"

The other nation cut across him quickly. "Austria." He said darkly, stopping outside a large pair of double-doors, hands clasped behind his back. "Roderich is a name only _allies_ can use."

The Briton grinned, standing beside him, posture just as straight. "A pleasure few enjoy, I'm sure."

Roderich lifted a hand, clearing his throat. "We've been requested in the War Room."

"I suspect that's why we're standing outside of it sir." Arthur replied easily, grinning.

Before Austria could retort, the doors were opened by a pair of soldiers who both saluted as the two nations walked inside. Four figures were already seated at the table, Germany at the head, standing over a make, pushing small figures across it, muttering to one of his generals while Prussia, on Ludwig's left, had his boots kicked up on the table, a small figure of a silver robin rolling between his fingers. Beside the empty seat at the German's right was Ivan, also staring at the map, muttering quietly in Russian to Lithuania, who was taking notes, trembling only slightly.

Roderich took a seat beside the Prussian, shifting his chair away from Gilbert, upper lip twitching slightly as the albino reached over a hand and ruffling his neatly smoothed back hair. Taking his usual place next to Ludwig, Arthur didn't sit, also peering down at the map, just turning in on the conversation going on. The general talking was a small, weasel-faced man whose eyes were too close together.

"…And there are reports of resistances popping up in Poland along the Eastern border with Russia." Ivan looked up at the mention of his name, the steady stream of Russian stopping, "Our troops are not meeting too many problems but I believe the matter should be looked into." The general straightened, trying to appear taller but failing beside Ludwig. "I think I should go and check myself."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Sending the general who self-elected, now there's a _fantastic_ idea." He sat up, exchanging a small look with Gilbert before leaning forward on the table, resting his chin on the back of his intertwined fingers, addressing the table as a whole. "I'm all for it. Trust that guy with Feliks. Definitely."

The small man narrowed his already tiny eyes at the Brit, making them appear as mere slits of concentrated anger. "And what say do you have? Filthy _Inselaffen_-"

"Fenstermacher," Ludwig said calmly, "I would appreciate if you did not insult those considered to be in the Axis alliance."

"But sir-"

Gilbert grinned and the man went silent, swallowing. "Ludwig is correct. Insulting little Artie," a sharp glare from the green eyes, "is not a wise idea. Especially when you consider who exactly who you are talking to."

Offering a hand, Arthur smiled at him. "The United Kingdom of Great Britain, Lord Arthur Kirkland. Charmed."

Not taking the proffered hand, the general looked back to Germany. "Please sir, let me go, I am fully qualified." Ludwig sat down at the table, staring hard at the table and map, brows furrowed in concentration. In the meantime, Gilbert flicked the small figure at Arthur, who caught it in the nick of time, placing the robin straight on Berlin. This time, Prussia did not grin.

"I have made my choice." Ludwig stood up, pushing a small gold eagle towards Poland. "We have to go to Poland tomorrow. Brigadeführer Kirkland and Standartenführer Lorinaitis will be joining me while Reichsfuherer Beilschmidt and Reichsleiter Edelstein will remain here." The general opened his mouth to speak, "That is my final word, and this meeting is dismissed."

Arthur was first on his feet. "This has been great and all gents but I'm off to have a drink."

The Prussian was also on his feet, stretching. "And I will join you, I could drink."

"I have a question." Everyone looked around to Ivan who had a hand raised. "What will I be doing? If I do not have my assistant," Toris shifted awkwardly, "I will not get any work done."

Quietly, Ludwig ran a hand through his hair, frowning down at the map. "In all honesty Russia… I have no plans for you, your government has being very cooperative." He smiled weakly at the Russian and his shoulders relaxed slightly. "I am sorry."

Ivan got to his feet and the small general shrunk back, hiding behind Ludwig slightly. "This is fine." He said, the Lithuanian standing up quickly, holding the small leather notebook close to his chest. A large hand reached out, grabbing the small bronze wolf positioned in Moscow and placing it delicately beside the silver robbing in German's heart. "I like it here. Come along Lietuvos, we will have to make the best of our little time together." he tapped the side of his leg, and Toris followed obediently.

Glancing one last time at the map, Arthur grinned slightly. "I've changed my mind." He said, starting to walk out, Gilbert trailing him closely while Roderich stayed behind with Ludwig, talking in low voices, "I don't want to go drinking."

"That is too bad little Rotkehlchen." Prussia said, closing the door behind them and advancing on Arthur slightly, humming as he placed a hand on the other side of his head, gloved fingers playing with a small piece of blond hair, causing the Brit to try to shift away but Gilbert's hand found the other side of Arthur's head. "I was looking forward to spending time with you"

Arthur quietly slipped out from under Gilbert's unnerving gaze. "I know, absolutely terrible. Devastating I'm sure." He said, walking away, "But I'm sure _somehow_ you will make it through."

Leaning against the wall, Prussia folded his arms over his chest. "Somehow," he said, watching Arthur hurry away, "Oh you can run little bird. But your cage grows smaller with every day."

* * *

**Author's Note**

Don't know why I suddenly picked this story back up... Maybe it was from watching so much _House_?

_Inselaffen - _Island Monkey_  
_


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